Heartstrings
by Tandaemonium
Summary: The Queen of hearts finds that hers is in disarray. And that someone will be needed if her reign on the land of the mad is to continue.
1. The Path

Here I finally submit something to this site. This is an _Alice in Wonderland _piece centering around the Queen of Hearts. Thus far I have two, kind of three chapters. And lord knows if any more will ever surface. But I wanted to toss it out in the ether and see what happens. Enjoy!

* * *

_T__he queen of hearts herself seems not to have one. _

_Or rather she hides it well, for a fear of cracks and splinters, _

_or perhaps a full-fledged collapse. _

_For love is a thing that makes or breaks. _

_And she, feeling obligation, will not let that entanglement _

_distract her from the rule of _Wonderland...

* * *

The Path

The cold was biting. Branches of what looked like long-dead trees stretched over bare patches of snow-covered ground as if reaching out to grab their brothers on the opposite side. There was a path there through these ancient boughs. A path that was presumably made by man, though none could say who. It caught attention in this barren landscape as the only thing of color for miles. Bright stone slabs laid end to end comprised its length, each one carved at its front and back ends in order to fit into the fore and aft slabs like pieces of a puzzle, despite a space of about six inches between them. Some of the pieces later on had curved or angled shapes to allow for the turning of the path, but the general shape of things was square. Sometimes it turned without purpose, doubling back on itself only feet away from the original line, or looping in a small circle, only to continue onward. It never led anywhere, or never led anywhere _worth_ leading to.

The people nearby any of it's existence saw it as a relic of some unknown past. It stretched far off into the distance, heading always away. Away from whatever it lay by. Whatever it led from. In addition to the color there were words, symbols, what have you. Very few were distinguishable by any in regards to translation. There was only one English word through miles of the thing, and very few others in languages found on the Earth as we know it. Attempts had been made to walk the length of it, but something had always prevented further inquiry at a point: a realization of some older artifact found along its way, an accident that stopped the research in its tracks. A great portion of the stone path here where it had snowed, was laid in loops and curls around German mountains, high up and out of sight of houses and roads. Though it did not snow now, the already fallen flakes that rested in the boughs of the trees blew off in swirls and sheets, giving the effect of weather in motion.

And here, where no other creature stirred, in the cold winter wind and deep chilling snow, stood a girl. Another, rather small set of eyes observed her blearily from its home in a hole. She was of average height, or so, five foot six maybe. A coat was wrapped closely around her, its color probably meant to have been gray, but a hint of red accompanying. The hood was rimmed in a sort of dark and light brown mix of nappy fur, fake, no doubt; and an extremely long scarf of thin stripes of pinks reds and browns trailed from within the hood, blowing around her skinny jean-clad legs and arms with pocketed hands. Her breath came steadily, the clouds of warm vapor ripped away as soon as they exited her mouth, clearing the curtain of black hair flying about her face. It wasn't apparent how it was she'd reached this portion of the path, as no footprints were visible around her in any direction. To the squirrel in his hole the girl hadn't been there, and then she had. It was as simple as that. Her head tilted in observation of the path before her, followed by a look left, and then right. It ended there, with her chocolate eyes following the colored stones as far as they would allow, tracing the curves and loops, ups and downs, until it disappeared around a rocky cliff. She was waiting. Someone would be coming. Who they were and why they came were facts this entity had not yet uncovered.


	2. Time to Waste

Chapter two! Who is this mysterious male character, and what is he destined to do? I must note that he has a condition called synesthesia, where one's senses are mixed and linked. Go ahead and look it up. It's a very intriguing thing.

* * *

Time to Waste

Silence.

Well, almost silence.

The gentle ticking of the grandfather clock in the front room peeled off second after second, minute to minute and hour to hour. In an extremely antique sitting room the setting sun cast its golden light over deep mahogany and cherry, red oriental carpeting and embroidered lampshades. And further upward in the building, up the tall and winding staircases squished into the side of this skinny row-house, there sat a young man. Similarly to the room below him he was covered in a sunset glow, his form leaning boredly and half-asleep in an old stuffed chair with his skinny legs stretched out to prop him backward. An ocean-blue gaze was set on the ornate molding of the white ceiling above him while his right hand played a gentle beat on the worn armrest of his seat.

"Another yellow Thursday, warm and creamy, slow and sticky..."

He had a sort of drawling voice which, had he bothered to use it for the purpose, would have had an extremely seductive effect. And far from his voice being seductive, this boy physically wasn't any ugly duckling. Had he stood he would reach a height of about six feet and four inches, his form thin and sinewy. A head of chocolate-brown hair framed a pale face, falling where it wished to a length a bit beyond his chin. He dragged his gaze away from the ceiling to stare out at the fire-colored landscape beyond the window, the flame-gradient reflecting in his pupils and contrasting starkly with the pure blue of his irises.

And there, weaving down the hills behind this house, were those ancient stones. He stood, and lethargically moved his form to lean against the window, his fingertips pressed against the cool glass, a single finger from his other hand tracing the line of stones that could not be moved, that they'd built over in some places only to have the house spontaneously burst into flame or simply fall apart. Unexplainable and suspicious, amazingly paranormal. Ever so old. The worn surfaces brought vivid memories to float lazily at the uppermost portions of the boy's mind, his ocean eyes cloudy with the reminiscence.

Rustling pages attracted his wandering attention, and the view changed from outdoors to in, his stare gravitating to an old book. Browning old pages flipped gently to the breeze entering from an open window, peeling backward and forward from their deep green cover. The boy wandered to it, in the same manner he'd dragged himself from his chair, and studied the diagrams and various translations.

"A labyrinth in rainbow sound...if only they could smell the age of these words and hear their color..."

He spoke to himself, a habit what with the way his thoughts wound around in coils and jagged angles, contrary to the straight mind. His speech was confusing and generally brought on a sudden need for the listener to consult the nearest dictionary. Sometimes not even an English dictionary. He made a sort of non-committal throaty noise at the floating pages, frowning ever-so-slightly. It was time, he thought, to let someone know what it was all about. After all, who would do it if he didn't? Who could?

And she'd need him. At this thought he frowned. He wasn't to be needed, but there it was. The fact. She would need him, there was no doubt. Though from this there could only be a messy future, it was what was to be.


	3. More of a Climb, Less of a Walk

Now moving on to another world. Our queen debates her next move.

* * *

More of a Climb, Less of a Walk

In this land the lightning struck and held there, as if an unseen hand were cracking the sky which then slowly healed itself, the searing hot light streak gradually fading on the canvas of the heavens. The maddening color and twisting insanity of this place was illuminated each time a bolt came tearing across the clouds, themselves not the normal white fluffy things of our world. Trees here behaved as though they'd been trained as topiaries, or on the contrary just grew wildly out of control. Some had trunks that twisted as stationary tornadoes, others grew in sharp angles. Most were gnarly and seemed old, some a bit ill. The shapes of the leaves were seemingly random, one tree alone having any number of different squares, triangles, hearts, stars...the list went on. Color abounded. These trees occupied the immediate vicinity of this landscape, but far off in the distance, standing under a purple moon, lay a tall sloping hill with a tall angular castle.

The theme there was bleak, dark rose-pink stones made up the towers and Arches of this complicated structure. Some bits seemed to have been tacked on as some psychotic afterthought. Buttresses and turrets jutted at random. Upon a closer inspection it would be observed that many of the rose-stones were heart-shaped, and the pointed ends of flag-poles and spears were also shaped thusly. A castle of hearts. The queen of this place sat sulking in her throne, alone and bored.

Her slender form was draped over the armrests, a blood-red silk throw of some sort layered under her to flow in fabric pools over the chair's form, in eddies around its feet. A dress of a similar color and simple style was haphazardly attached to the queen, giving off a "just got out of bed" effect. Black hair curled around pale shoulders and crawled down the side of her seat, bangs obscuring the same chocolate eyes which hours before had watched the snowy pathway in apprehensive anticipation. The soft sound of footsteps brought the queen's consciousness to the surface, the gaze that was fixed on the ornate vaulted ceiling averting to whomever was entering her throne room.

The figure became more visible as it traversed the lengthy carpet leading from tall double doors straight to the raised throne. A tall top-hat bobbed with the figure's movements, accompanied by a set of swaying coattails and a slightly insane grin. The queen gave a slight smile to the figure, still not turning her head and simply observing the young man from out of the corner of her eye.

"Hatter." She stated, "I went to look. And nobody came. What do you suppose that means? Do you think perhaps the calculations were incorrect and now we'll have to wait another set of eons before the time and place can be pinpointed correctly?" The girl shifted in her chair, sitting up and demurely crossing her legs despite the obvious lengthy slit in the skirts of her dress..

(I'm still putting my thoughts together on the end of this chapter and where I'd like to story to be going...so bear with me.)


End file.
